


black cats & voodoo dolls

by ohhotlamb



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Crush at First Sight, Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, Witches, bokuto is a man hell bent on sweet revenge, kuroo and kenma are witches who own a magic shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7639285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhotlamb/pseuds/ohhotlamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, hypothetically, if I wanted to put a curse on somebody and make them suffer but I didn’t really want them to <em>die</em>—how would you suggest that, um, I do that?”</p><p>Kuroo looks up over his completely wholesome and not-at-all suggestive magazine (covered by <em>another</em> magazine—a nature special on humpback whales or some other majestic shit like that) to find an extremely hot and extremely sad-looking guy. Kuroo raises an eyebrow, but it’s invisible under the black of his fringe. He alternates brows.</p><p>“Damn. Who fucked <em>you</em> over?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	black cats & voodoo dolls

**Author's Note:**

> huge thanks to both [shadowhy](http://shadowhy.tumblr.com/) and [somethingofavoid](http://somethingofavoid.tumblr.com/) from tumblr for looking this over for me and giving me amazing feedback!! thank you so so much!! <3

 

 

> _Saturday_
> 
> _12:42 PM_  
>    
>  _Kenma's Litterbox: House of Witchcraft and Magical Supplies_  
>    
>  _Cashier: Kuroo Tetsurou_  
>    
>  _Today's Special: buy one kilo of bat guano and the next kilo is free!_

 

“So, hypothetically, if I wanted to put a curse on somebody and make them suffer but I didn’t really want them to _die—_ how would you suggest that, um, I do that?”

Kuroo looks up over his completely wholesome and not-at-all suggestive magazine (covered by _another_ magazine—a nature special on humpback whales or some other majestic shit like that) to find an extremely hot and extremely sad-looking guy. Kuroo raises an eyebrow, but it’s invisible under the black of his fringe. He alternates brows.

“Damn. Who fucked _you_ over?”

He’s big and pretty beefy and he may or may not have tear-tracks on his cheeks—Kuroo’s still trying to determine if maybe he’s just a heavy sweater and happens to have rather swollen-looking eyes.  He makes the conclusion that, _no, definitely tears_ , when the guy sniffles and wipes at something leaking out of his nose.

“He was _cheating_ on me, man. He had access to _all of this,”_ he gestures at his huge chest, his pectorals and abs clearly outlined underneath the snug and too-thin t-shirt ( _Jesus Christ, Tetsurou, pull yourself together—), “_ and he _still_ goes and hooks up with the dude who delivers our mail _._ Can you believe it? _The mailman._ The most boring shit _ever_ , and he _cheated—“_

Here, he chokes on another sob, fresh tears brimming as he bites on his bottom lip. Kuroo pushes back his rolling chair, and in the same movement he darts down the counter to grab the box of tissues. He offers it with a sympathetic frown, and the guy takes a handful with a quiet _thanks._ He blows his nose and the finches they keep in the corner of the shop erupt in a panicked flurry of twittering.

The guy flinches, looking guilty. “Oops. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare your birds.”

“It’s fine, they’re just being dramatic. They’re used to loud noises—the shop owner has some noisy friends.”

The man looks relieved. “Oh, okay. Uh, good. So, what do you think? Do you have anything that could help me out?”

Kuroo props his elbow on the counter, chin in his palm. He taps his finger against his cheek thoughtfully. “So you’re looking for a bit of revenge, but nothing that would cause horrific maiming and/or death, right?”

The guy wipes at his wet eyes with the tissue.  “Yeah.”

Revenge-based spells are probably the most common of the spells that feed off of negative energy and, in Kuroo’s book, require the most fun ingredients. He can only take so many spells that call for lavender or raw honey before he has to wonder if he’s really a witch or just some glorified hippie. “Okay, wait here, I got just the book. Grab that stool and pull it up to the counter.”

He dashes through the white lacey curtain that leads into the backroom where they keep most of the older and more valuable books, quickly checking his chin for drool as he goes—what can he say, he’s weak and the guy’s ripped, okay, sue him. He has to use both arms to heft the book he needs off of the stack on the mahogany table, glancing at the door that leads to the upstairs apartment—it hasn’t been opened since he came down to open the shop a few hours ago, which must mean that Kenma’s still sleeping, and probably will be until _at least_ two in the afternoon. Sometimes he wishes that that he could be a cat most of the time too, if it meant he got to sleep for sixteen hours out of the day. But the hairballs he finds in the bathroom sink look less-than-fun, to say the least. No, he’s probably better off the way he is.

Pushing the curtain aside again with his head, he finds that the customer has obediently dragged the wooden stool over from where it’s kept in the corner and is sitting on the opposite side of the long counter, both arms crossed on top. He’s looking around himself with fascination, and Kuroo notices that his red-rimmed eyes keep returning to the fish tank teeming with frog larvae and water nymphs.  

Kuroo drops the book on the counter in front of the man, whose gaze snaps back with a small jump. He grins. “Want some coffee or tea? I like to go over all the spells so you know what you’re getting into. We may be here a while.”

“Uh, sure! I’ll take tea, then.”

“Green tea okay?”

“Yeah!”

“Cool.”

Kuroo sets the kettle of water on the old woodstove, lighting the fire with a sharp snap of his fingers. The man lets out a low, impressed whistle, and it takes real effort for Kuroo not to start preening. He glances over his shoulder with the sultriest look he can muster, thick lashes lowered. He feels ridiculous but a man does what he must. “Hey, what’s your name, anyhow?” Good. His voice isn’t giving away any of his lecherous thoughts.

“Oh, uh, did I really not introduce myself? It’s Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou.”

The name is scarily accurate, from the horns carefully crafted with hair gel to the golden, luminous, completely gorgeous eyes—

“Kuroo Tetsurou.” He reaches up to grab the glass jar of dried tea leaves from among other ingredients—salamander eyes and chunks of amethyst and the bioluminescent juices of firefly innards.

Bokuto (god, what a hilarious name) hums from behind him. “So…Kenma’s Litterbox? Kinda weird name for a magic shop.”

Kuroo fetches two mugs from a shelf underneath the counter; behind him, a levitating spoon is doling dried leaves into a steeper just as the water comes to a boil. “I came up with it.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Why?”

“Kenma’s the guy who owns this place with me. He said he didn’t care what we named it as long as I did all of the customer service stuff. And honestly, it’s less of shop and more of a place where he keeps his shit, so. Kenma’s Litterbox.”

Bokuto stills for a moment, and then he lets out the loudest laugh Kuroo’s ever heard in his _life_ —and this is coming from someone who regularly has Hinata Shouyou playing video games in his apartment. The birds are set off again, but Kuroo’s too busy trying not to fall in love to notice. That laugh—it comes deep from his belly, head thrown back and cheeks reddening—

_Shit, shit, shit._

“I get it, _I get it_! Oh, man, that’s the worst name you coulda picked! You’re crackin’ me up!” He wipes traces of tears (happy, this time) from the corners of his eyes. His smile is so broad it looks like it’s splitting his face. “So Kenma’s like…a cat-person?”

He’s distracted, feeling flustered and lame because he’s never gotten a crush on someone so fast before— “He’s a therianthrope, yeah. He can go both ways, but he’s a cat most of the time. He’s probably sleeping upstairs.”

Hot water is poured over the leaves, and he sets the steaming mug in front of Bokuto carefully, nudging the box of tissues closer as he does, just in case.

“’s that where he lives?”

“Yup. We’re roommates, so I live there, too.”

Okay, he’s really getting sidetracked now—Bokuto didn’t come here for some wretchedly horny witch to talk at him about everything except what he actually came here to know. Firstly taking a soothing tip of green tea, he brushes a bit of dust off of the book in front of them, feeling the magic of the pages tingle against his fingertips. He really has to put his back into throwing it open—the spine is stiff and ancient, and the pages smell like dried blood and sage. He also sets down a stack of crisp white papers stapled together, printed off the computer with recipes of some more modern spellwork.

“Okay, so there’s the real mild ones: spells that’ll cause him super bad acne, spells that’ll make him stub his pinky toe on everything, spells that’ll make really annoying songs get stuck in his head. If you wanted to go up a level, we have one that’ll give him the shits for days on end, but, well, that one carries the risk of dehydration. Thoughts?”

Bokuto leans over the book, looking up at Kuroo earnestly. “What about voodoo dolls?”

“Wha?”

“You know, like we make a little doll like looks like him and stab it with needles!”

“I can give you a couple reasons why that’s a bad idea. One: it’s super fucking creepy. And two, it would be really easy to screw up and just. Completely fuck the guy up without meaning to.”

He deflates somewhat, sitting back onto his stool. “Oh. Nevermind, then.”

“But hey, have you considered something like this? Look—a curse that’ll make all his pillows smell like sweaty feet. Sounds pretty terrible, huh?”

And just like that, he’s glowing again. “Oohhh, I like that! Hey, would it be possible to do a couple spells at once? Like, what if we did that one, and…” he skims his finger down the page, head tilted completely to the side to read at an angle ( _holy shit he’s an actual owl),_ and his eyes light up. “…a curse to always clog the toilet when he’s visiting a friend’s house!”

“That’s diabolical.”

Bokuto Koutarou grins, and Kuroo feels a different kind of magic send an undeniable _zing_ through his poor, unsuspecting heart.

And so begins their first night together.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kenma’s Litterbox began as a simple collection between two witches, one notably more powerful than the other but cursed with all the energy of a two-thousand-year-old sloth. Over the years, it’s grown monumentally—the entire south wall has been replaced by a sunroom made of faceted glass, vines of poison ivy climbing, pitcher plants in mismatched pots and fire flowers happily following the path of the sun. The shop is constantly full of the musical notes of windchimes, though no matter how hard people look they are unable to find the source. Precious gemstones and piles of clear quartz are stacked underneath the windowsill, throwing a kaleidoscope of colors across the far wall. There are enormous tanks of electric eels and five-headed-pond turtles, cages of finches that, once under moonlight, transform into the cheeriest of woodland fairies that the shop owners let flit around the room once they’ve closed for the day. Three spellbooks have grown into dozens, and what was once an invisible shop tucked into a back alley in the city now has a reputation among magic users and non-users alike.

It’s also the place where Kuroo decides that he’s going to have to face an early grave because _Bokuto Koutarou is_ _going to be the death of him._

The shop encounters only four other customers throughout the day—all non-users and all easy to deal with, and Kuroo is able to hand them the package of crushed rosemary or bottle of sea water, take their money, and send them on their way. Kenma finally emerges (as a human) a bit before three and retreats shortly after he realizes that their customer isn’t going to be leaving anytime soon. Which is true—they’ve only inched through maybe a third of the spellbook and gone over, in great detail, at least one hundred curses. Either nothing is _mean_ enough for Bokuto’s revenge (such as the hex to give the guy permanent bedhead, which Kuroo finds personally offensive) or it’s _too_ mean (his dick shrivels up and falls off). And honestly, Kuroo _doesn’t mind._ He could literally sit here across the counter in his magic shop, eyes alternating between the yellowing pages and outright ogling flexing biceps for the rest of the night. And he’d be _happy to._ Because Bokuto is funny and cute as shit and it took only fifteen minutes of talking to Kuroo for the sadness to be nearly completely gone from the set of his mouth.

Kuroo is in _trouble._

It takes hours of this process, of Kuroo describing a spell’s effects and its ingredients, of Bokuto crowing his amazement and the two of them sharing a massive plate of madeleines, for Bokuto to finally comprehend the time—he looks out the front window, his big eyes reflecting the full moon. The twittering of finches has been replaced by sly whispering behind tiny hands. “Oh, shit. It’s really late. Like the stars are out and everything. How’d that happen?”

Kuroo knows exactly how it happened but he’s not about to point out that it can really be boiled down to the fact that he didn’t want Bokuto to leave. He shrugs. “I dunno, but I drank a whole pot of tea. I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

“Ugh, same.” Bokuto shifts uncomfortably, and then his mouth opens in realization. “Oh, we didn’t really decide on a spell, did we?” He scratches at the back of his head awkwardly, and amazingly his hair-horns aren’t shifted in the slightest. _How much hair gel does this guy use?_

“Looks that way.” Kuroo stretches with a groan, his back popping after having been hunched over a book for hours on end—not that he’s complaining. “If you want, you can come back tomorrow, uh, if you have time. So you can decide on something then.” Is he being casual enough? Is he too obvious? What if Bokuto decides he doesn’t want to come back? There’s the sound of hushed laughter and he feels an embarrassed flush creep up his neck.

Bokuto frowns. “Would that really be okay? I don’t wanna be annoying—“

“It’s fine,” Kuroo interjects, a bit too quickly. “Uh, I mean. You’re not annoying. And I don’t mind.”

His palms are sweating and his magic is making his hair fluff up like a black cloud around his head—he prays that Bokuto is dumb enough to assume it’s static electricity.

Golden eyes blink at him, a slow smile spreading a wide mouth. “Then…I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 _Thank the gods._ Kuroo nods jerkily. “Tomorrow.”

Bokuto stands from the stool, picking it up and setting it back down gently in the corner. He heads for the door, pausing in the threshold to wave. “’kay, bye! Thanks for today!”

“Bye.” Kuroo waves back.

As soon as the bell jangles and Bokuto is walking away down the sidewalk, Kuroo thunks his head down onto the counter with a guttural groan of despair. Below him, Cat-Kenma meows and bumps his head once against Kuroo’s ankle. _You’re fucked,_ Kuroo interprets.

That’s something they both can agree on.

 

 

* * *

 

 

> _Sunday_
> 
> _10:53 AM_
> 
> _Cashier: Kuroo Tetsurou_
> 
> _Today's Special: Argentinian fire ant eggs (Solenopsis metanotalis), ¥100 per scoop!_

 

Kuroo is wearing the most booty poppin’ skinny jeans that he owns, which sadly goes to waste as he ends up sitting in a fluffy egg-chair for the majority of the morning, the spellbook in his lap and Bokuto exploring the shop as Kuroo goes over potential curses.

“Oh, wow, what a cool cat!”

Dread turns his blood icy when he hears Bokuto’s excited exclamation followed quickly by a distressed _meow._ There’s a small cream-colored cat accented with orange and black splotches shrinking in on itself by the center bookshelf, the fur on its back bristling, glaring up at Bokuto with obvious discomfort. Kuroo can read its mind as clearly as if it had spoken aloud in its human voice— _I wonder if I’ll be able to get away with biting a customer…_

Kuroo sighs, and he doesn’t need to be a tarot card reader to know that they’re going to need a roll of bandages and a bottle of antiseptic. He flicks his hand and the first-aid kit kept behind the counter comes soaring across the room to sit comfortably on his lap.

“That’s Kenma, and if you touch him he _will_ bite you.”

 

* * *

 

 

> _Monday_
> 
> _5:45 PM_
> 
> _Cashier: Kuroo Tetsurou_
> 
> _Today's Special: 50% off all amphibian rearing supplies!_

 

Bokuto raises his right hand to his face, frowning as the gauze wrapped clear up to his wrist darkens with the unmistakable color of fresh blood. “Hey, Kuroo, can I get a new band-aid for my hand? It’s oozing.”

“You completely deserved that, I hope you know. You’re lucky he didn’t take a finger.”

But a private sort of thrill goes through him as he holds Bokuto’s hand in his own, taking longer than necessary to unroll the bandage and replace it with a new one. He murmurs a soft spell under his breath for quick and painless healing.

He doesn’t notice Bokuto staring at him open-mouthed, the apples of his cheeks blushing crimson.

 

* * *

 

 

> _Tuesday_
> 
> _6:12 PM_
> 
> _Cashier: Kuroo Tetsurou_
> 
> _Today's Special: fill a pouch with matching-color gemstones for just ¥5000!_

 

“Bokuto, for the last time, _leave Kenma alone._ And check out this curse—the douchebag’ll feel like he has to sneeze, like, _all the time.”_

Bokuto jerks his hand back like a little kid about to get caught elbow-deep in a cookie jar—he smiles sheepishly, and Kenma gives him a half-hearted hiss before darting through the white lace curtain back to the apartment. Kuroo smiles to himself—Bokuto had managed a few gentle pats before being scolded, and doesn’t have any teeth-marks this time to show for it. Although Kenma pretends like he doesn’t enjoy the attention, Kuroo can tell when he’s warming up to someone.

He’s glad that someone is Bokuto.

“I dunno, man. I mean it’s _bad_ but I don’t think it’s bad _enough._ Is there a way we can give him herpes or something?”

 

* * *

  

 

> _Wednesday_
> 
> _7:12 PM_
> 
> _Cashier: Kuroo Tetsurou_
> 
> _Today's Special: none available_

 

The bad news is delivered via a newly acquired phone number that Bokuto is stuck late at work and doesn’t have time today to stop by Kenma’s Litterbox in the evening like he has been the past few days. The shop feels too dark and too quiet and too lonely. Realization makes Kuroo’s chest feel heavy.

“Shit. I really like him,” he murmurs.

“Prrrrp,” replies Kenma. In a rare showing of comfort and affection, he rubs his cheek against Kuroo’s jaw.

 

* * *

 

 

> _Thursday_
> 
> _5:51 PM_
> 
> _Cashier: Kuroo Tetsurou_
> 
> _Today's Special: natural aphrodisiac herbs on sale up to 75% off!_

 

“Kuroo. I’m in big trouble. Some real bad juju.”

Kuroo looks up from the page in front of him (they had finally gotten through the old spellbook, and so today they begin the modern spells) and his lips twitch up into a lopsided smile. “Bad juju? Uh-oh. Doesn’t sound good.”

He shakes his head fervently. “It’s not. So I got invited to this party going on Saturday night by one of my co-workers, right? And the thing is he’s kinda-not-really-buddies with Daisuke.”

“Daisuke?”

“Ex-douchebag extraordinaire,” Bokuto clarifies.

“Gotcha.”

“And he didn’t know that we broke up so he invited the both of us. And Daisuke is gonna be there with the _mailman.”_

“The bastard himself.”

“And—and I _wanna_ go, ‘cause I love parties and I wanna hang with my friends from work but! _Daisuke and the mailman!”_

“Sounds like you’re in a real pickle,” Kuroo hums, his fingers flexing dangerously because he fucking hates the ex-boyfriend and he fucking hates the mailman who’re making such pathetic expressions cross Bokuto’s face, he _just wants to smash something._

He’s finally reached the point of no return; he’s accepted it. Seeing Bokuto step through those doors is the bright spot of his day. He’s developed a Pavlovian reaction to hearing the bell above the door jangle—his heart stutters and terrible, nervous, _delighted_ magic makes his hair floof up and dance around his head like the tentacles of an underwater anemone. He’s making the flowers outside the shop bloom out-of-season, and Kenma’s been having to shake pink, strawberry-scented goo off of his paws, because the stuff’s _literally oozing out of Kuroo’s ears._ When he sleeps, when he eats, when he’s sitting on the couch staring at the ceiling—he leaves _puddles._ And he’s tasted the stuff—it’s _delicious,_ which can only mean one thing—

_He’s got it bad._

So he sees Bokuto’s head hung in dejection, the sadness from that first day returning to his eyes, and in the distance Kuroo hears the unmistakable crackle of the beginnings of thunder. He can’t make it rain inside the shop again, Kenma will _kill_ him if he gets any of the books wet—

And then an idea appears. A horrible, selfish, hormone-driven idea that by no means should he act on because Bokuto deserves some time to mourn his relationship and Kuroo absolutely _cannot_ take advantage of him in this state—

“Hey, you know what I think the _ultimate revenge_ would be?”

Or, you know, he could just completely ignore the little angel on his shoulder and high-five the little man with devil horns on the other.

Bokuto perks up, face open and trusting because over these past few days he’s grown to think of Kuroo as an honest, swell guy when he really, really shouldn’t. “No, what? Tell me tell me tell meeeee.”

Ignoring every decent bone in his body telling him to be ashamed of himself, he obliges. “What if you showed up to that party with, like, this super hot guy as your date. Hotter than your ex could ever _dream_ of being. And funny and charming, to boot. That would really piss him off, don’t you think?”

Subtle, Tetsurou, subtle. He can _feel,_ through a solid ceiling and twenty feet between them, Kenma’s judgiest stare burning a hole through the top of his head. He accepts his shittiness for what it is and prepares for the rejection he entirely deserves.

He jumps when big hands slam down on the counter, eyes ablaze with enthusiasm. “Oh, _hell yeah.”_ Kuroo’s heart leaps hopefully. “But,” Bokuto purses his lips, looking confuddled, “who am I gonna find to fake-date me on such short notice?”

_Are you fucking kidding me._

Kuroo rubs a hand up and down his face, fingers digging into his eyes so hard that the darkness explodes with firework-like colors. “Bro, I’m saying this with one-hundred percent affection when I say that you’re a dumbass. And that I’m saying you should date me. But like, for real. Not fake. Because I like you and the first time we met I had to stop myself from drooling, you’re _that hot._ ”

Why doesn’t he just propose while he’s at it. Why doesn’t he just run over to the sunroom and dissolve his entire head in one of the giant, acid-containing pitcher plants to put himself out of his misery. He can see it now—Kenma rubbing his back in soothing circles as he drowns himself in cookie dough ice cream. _This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so fucking thirsty,_ purrs the Kenma of his imagination, sounding markedly not-Kenma-like. 

He feels hands grab at his wrists, yanking his fingers away from his eyes—it takes a minute for them to adjust to the sudden light, but what he sees makes him blush all the way up his ears—Bokuto’s face, inches away and looking happier than he’s ever seen it.

“ _No way.”_

His response is automatic and dripping defensive sarcasm. “Way.”

Bokuto’s face is so close Kuroo can feel his breath blowing against his cheeks. “Me too! I mean, I was really sad and feeling pretty shitty when I first came here. But talking to you made me happy again when I didn’t think I ever could. Plus, your ass is like _whoa_ —I mean, not that I _looked,_ you’re just so—I mean, you’re kinda just like,” his eyes go wide, and he releases Kuroo’s wrists long enough to mime an explosion with his hands, “ _pppshhhewwww.”_

Kuroo _laughs_. Happy magic is literally oozing out of his skin, millions of glittering droplets fluttering down to settle around them like a weird kind of sparkly dandruff. He feels the beginnings of strawberry goo pool in the shells of his ears.  “Oh, my god, dude. You’re so cute. Stop it.”

Bokuto leans across the counter, eyes gleaming. “Can I show you something two people who mutually like each other do sometimes?”

 _Like. He likes me. He likes me, too_.

He sounds dazed, even to his own, goo-filled ears. “What’s that?”

Bokuto grabs Kuroo by his hair and brings his face in even closer, grinning at the no-doubt starstruck expression on his face. “Let’s make out.”

“Twist my arm a little more, why don’t you?”

“Let’s make out _a lot_.”

“Oh. Oh, this is what true romance must be like. My whole life, I’ve only ever _dreamed—“_

He kisses exactly like Kuroo had envisioned—aggressive and with little thought to watch his teeth. His mouth tastes like green tea and Kuroo thinks that he must have a special magic all of his own, because he doubts that there’ll ever be a time where he could get enough of the feeling of Bokuto’s tongue curling languidly with his own.

Bokuto pulls away, pupils big and smiling so huge he looks absolutely fucking crazy. “I wish this counter wasn’t in the way, I wanna dip you. Like a tango. _That’s_ romantic.”

Kuroo tugs on his shirt impatiently. “Ya know what else would be romantic? If you’d put your tongue back in my mouth, thanks.”

“Oh, you sweet talker, you.”

But he complies, and Kuroo’s eyes slip shut.

In the back of the shop, the finches start singing an unmistakable rendition of the Disney classic “Kiss the Girl”.

 

* * *

  

 

> _Friday_
> 
> _3:22 PM_
> 
> _Cashier: Kozume Kenma_
> 
> _Today's Special: "Since when did we have specials?"_

 

“Hey, Kenma. Customer recommendation for a small gardening spell.”

“I’m busy.”

“You’re not busy, you’re trying to groom your elbow. Get over here.”

There’s a lot of grumbling and a little bit of awkward hissing (he forgets, sometimes, that it’s not quite as intimidating when he’s wearing pajama pants and a sweatshirt three sizes too big for him) but he eventually makes his way over, eyeing the customer from over the counter like they want to bite him. They give him the same look, and in Kuroo’s opinion they have a better reason to be afraid. Bokuto has the scab on his hand to prove it.

“She says that she needs a spell to keep the slugs from eating her tomatoes.”

“Can’t you take care of it? That’s one of the easiest gardening spells, ever. _Bokuto-san_ could do it.”

Kuroo ducks down, his lips centimeters from Kenma’s ear. “You need to learn how to talk to customers if I’m gonna be gone tomorrow, and maybe Sunday if I get laid. Now give the nice lady the slug repellent.”

“Can’t we just be closed tomorrow?” Kenma hisses back.

“Not if you want to support your fucking expensive lifestyle, no.”

Kenma sighs, and looks up at the woman with defeated, glazed eyes. “Welcome to my litterbox. I hear you're having trouble with your tomatoes?"

**Author's Note:**

> honestly im just glad to have fINISHED SOMETHING gdi ive been working like crazy lately and have had very little time to write and very little motivation when time does come around - furthermore, all my love and thanks goes out to Ricky Martin for the masterpiece that is [livin la vida loca](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltRgb4SJ1uk), which was the inspiration for the title and i can 100% picture the two of them dancing to it tbh
> 
> [tumblr dot com](http://ohhotlamb.tumblr.com/)


End file.
